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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29888517">Luck of the Irish Whiskey</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhosyn_du/pseuds/rhosyn_du'>rhosyn_du</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shadowhunters (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Human, Drinking, F/F, Flirting, Fluff, St. Patrick's Day</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:49:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,219</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29888517</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhosyn_du/pseuds/rhosyn_du</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Lydia’s coworkers decide to try a new bar for this week’s team happy hour, Lydia ditches them to have a drink at their usual bar. It’s definitely just because she likes routine and has absolutely nothing to do with the unfairly attractive woman behind the bar.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lydia Branwell/Maia Roberts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Shadowhunters Fic Crawl 2021</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Luck of the Irish Whiskey</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Warmth and sound hit Lydia like a wall as she steps into Hunter’s Moon, the bar’s cheerful chaos a sharp contrast to the tense chill of the winter evening outside. She unwinds her scarf and pulls off her matching hat and gloves as she approaches the bar, sparing a few seconds to smooth the inevitable hat-related flyaways in her braid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as she realizes what she's doing, Lydia drops her hand. It doesn't matter if she's got hat-head. She's here for a drink, that's all. Just an after-work drink like she has every Thursday. And so what if her coworkers decided to try that new bar over on Doyers this week? Lydia just likes routine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman behind the bar glances up, and her face breaks into a wide smile when she sees Lydia. Lydia fights down the urge to smooth her hair again and ignores the fluttering sensation in her belly. She can’t help that Maia’s smile—warm and open and oh so inviting—</span><em><span>does things</span></em><span> to her, but she can keep herself from acting like a schoolgirl with her first crush. She’s a grown woman who knows better than to read anything into a bartender who’s just a little flirty with some of her regular customers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Squaring her shoulders, Lydia returns a much more reserved smile and settles into a stool at the bar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s the rest of the dream team?” Maia asks, pulling out a shaker and tossing in some ice. “Did Penhallow finally reveal her true nature and turn them all to stone with a glance?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jia isn’t that bad,” Lydia protests, even though she isn’t entirely sure she means it. “And anyway, don’t I remember you saying you voted for her in the last election?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure.” Maia pulls a bottle of whiskey from the shelf, twirling it expertly before pouring it into the shaker. Lydia valiantly refrains from gawking. “But did you see the guy she was running against? I would have voted for a literal gorgon over Valentine Morgenstern.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good thing I’ve got another three months to convince you to support her in the primary, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Looks like.” Maia glances up and flashes Lydia a teasing smirk before turning her attention back to the drink she’s mixing. “She’s got actual competition this time, and the Senate's a whole different ball game than Mayor of New York.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me about it. Senate runs require at least ten times as many handwritten thank you notes to donors,” Lydia says, trying not to be too obvious in her admiration for the way Maia’s forearms flex as she shakes the drink. “But at least I’ve got an intern to write the ones for the minor donors now, thanks to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Told you Simon was your guy,” Maia says with a grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was a little worried about how he might gel with the rest of the team, considering how . . . enthusiastic he can be,” Lydia admits. “But he’s surprisingly good at wrangling the volunteers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maia snorts. “Yeah, he’s got some kind of magical talent for charming middle-aged white women.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s got a talent for charming a lot of people,” Lydia tells her. “It would be annoying if it didn’t work so well on potential donors. Although,” she adds, “I am a tiny bit annoyed he managed to convince everyone to go to The Green Fairy tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span><em><span>Simon</span></em><span> did?” Maia says with mock outrage. “That traitor! He’d better bring me some of their fried macaroni balls later to make it up to me, those things are amazing.” She pours the contents of the shaker into a rocks glass with a flourish and sets it in front of Lydia.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lydia eyes the glass suspiciously. “It’s green.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a shamrock sour,” Maia explains. “I’m thinking of making them for St. Patrick’s Day, for the people who aren’t into beer but still want something festive. And who better to taste test that my favorite customer?” she adds with a wink. “On the house, in exchange for your honest opinion.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lydia lifts the glass and sniffs it experimentally, partially to gauge if she wants to risk a taste, but mostly to hide her flush at being called Maia’s favorite customer. She’s been coming to Hunter’s Moon for over a year now, so she should be used to Maia’s low-key flirting, should know by now that Maia most probably doesn’t mean anything by it. Her heart, it seems, is a slow learner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what exactly is a shamrock sour?” Lydia wants to know. It’s not that she doesn’t trust Maia, but she has very vivid memories of some god-awful peppermint atrocity Aline had forced on her a couple Christmases back, and she’s been wary of holiday-themed drinks since.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just a whiskey sour made with Jameson and a little green food coloring tossed in with the sweet and sour.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lydia lets out a surprised laugh even as a pleased warmth blooms in her chest. “So you basically just took my favorite drink and turned it green?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We already had the food coloring to make green beer, so I figured why not?” Maia says with a shrug. She puts one elbow onto the bar, leaning into Lydia’s personal space, and adds conspiratorially, “And maybe I wanted to give you a reason to show up to keep me company on the busiest night of the year and distract me from the fact that I also have a major research paper due that week.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And here I thought you were just looking for an excuse to give me free drinks,” Lydia teases, in part to deflect from just how affected she is by the other woman’s closeness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s shocked when Maia’s grin gains a hint of shyness. “The thought might have crossed my mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, oh. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Suddenly, every interaction they’ve had, every hint of flirtation, takes on a new light in Lydia’s mind. Maybe, just maybe, she’s not the only one here who actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>means</span>
  </em>
  <span> it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Never one to miss an opportunity when it arises, Lydia is speaking before she’s even aware of having made a conscious decision to do so. “Do you have any plans to celebrate surviving the St. Patrick’s Day rush and finishing what I’m sure will be a brilliant paper?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maia shakes her head. “Nothing specific. Bat’s covering my Friday shift so I can have the night off after handing in my paper, but I haven’t figured out what I’m doing yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Lydia says, holding up her shamrock sour, “it seems like I owe you a drink. If you’re interested, maybe I could buy you one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maia’s smile is cautious. “You mean like a date, or . . . ?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly like a date,” Lydia confirms, finally letting herself smile the way she always wants to around Maia. “I was thinking maybe we could check out The Green Fairy. This really hot bartender I know told me they’ve got amazing fried macaroni balls.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maia’s answering grin is almost blinding. “In that case, I guess I have no choice. I mean, you can’t go wrong listening to a hot bartender.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Lydia agrees. “I really can’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t know whether it’s something about the food coloring or just the exhilaration of the moment, but when she finally takes a sip of her shamrock sour, Lydia thinks it might be the best thing she’s ever tasted.</span>
</p>
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